My mother, Maria Mancini, kept her small kitchen tricks in one drawer in Bari. My father kept his habits in a toolbox. In 1969 I came to New Jersey with one suitcase, and for 41 years my wife Carmela and I ran a butcher shop in Newark.
I am not a chef and I am not a doctor. These are the habits of a working family: a pan that does not lie, a grocery bill that does not surprise you, a house that stays in order on a Tuesday.
Every video I told you I was writing it all down. These three books are the first pages of that notebook. Take them, try one habit this week, and tell me how it went. Piano, piano. Slowly, slowly.



